He wouldn’t look at her. “Don’t ask me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just might tell you the truth.”
“But—”
“Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t want to know.” He wrapped the lines around the sail. After a moment he stopped and looked at her again. “You just worry about those kids.” He turned his back to them.
Theodore shifted, then stood up and wobbled a little from the motion of the boat. Margaret grabbed his arm to steady him, and in a cracked voice he said, “Mr. Wyatt?”
The man grunted something.
“Mr. Wyatt?”
The man turned around. “I’m just Hank.” Theodore nodded, his small face serious.
“You said I have to grow up now. Because I’m an orphan.” Margaret covered her mouth with one hand. The convict said nothing.
Theodore puffed out his bony chest and said very seriously, “Thank you for saving us.”
Margaret sat powerless as she watched Theodore stand there, trying to be brave in front of this crude and formidable man. A convict.
The man just looked at him for long seconds, then stared at Theodore’s outstretched hand.
She held her breath, afraid of what the convict named Hank might say or do to this little boy who’d already seen more pain than any child should have to. She started to reach for Theodore to pull him back. Then she saw his small pale and childish hand covered by a rough, tanned one. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.
There was no cockiness in the man’s manner, no cruel look of challenge.
“That’s okay, kid.” He shrugged and looked up. His gaze met hers over the top of Theodore’s head. She could see nothing in the convict’s expression to give away what he was thinking, but he was tense. He sat more erect. She had seen something he wanted hidden. He dropped Theodore’s hand. His face grew harder and his mouth tight. Theodore stepped back and sat down next to Lydia. They began whispering.
His back to her, the man tied off the sail lines, then sprawled out in his end of the boat and crossed his feet again. He looked at the kids, then gave her a warning look.
This time she said nothing.
He looked away.
After a moment she quietly said, “Thank you.” They both knew exactly what she was thanking him for.
“Don’t go getting all gushy, sweetheart. I did what I did because I did it.” He plopped his hat over his face and rested his arms on his chest.
“Certainly,” she said in a wry tone, staring at the black hat.
He tilted the hat back and scowled at her from beneath the wide brim.
She smiled sweetly.
He nudged the hat back over his face and grunted something.
She should have had Theodore question him, she thought. The boy might have gotten some answers out of him. She watched this Hank Wyatt person for a long time, then frowned slightly when she realized he was sprawled in the boat like a man who hadn’t a worry in the world. His breathing had evened out like someone who was almost asleep. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t say anything.
She looked at the sail, uselessly wrapped around the small mast and tied with the rigging and lines. “Mr. Wyatt?”
He groaned.
“I asked you what you were doing.”
